


Sensors Don't Lie

by WandersUnderStarlight



Series: Not Just a Spark [1]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Early War AU, Jazz in disguise, M/M, One Shot, Slightly dark Prowl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 17:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10417071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WandersUnderStarlight/pseuds/WandersUnderStarlight
Summary: Praxus had the highest rate of sparkbonds on Cybertron for a reason.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this one-shot came out of nowhere and smacked me in the face, demanding to be written.

Prowl hated playing the dutiful creation. His sire, the Lord of Praxus, was getting far too much cruel enjoyment out of remaining Neutral and courting both sides of this smouldering conflict. His sire would entertain Autobots in the morning just to dine with Decepticons in the evening. It was a dangerous game he was playing and he dragged his creations into it by having them act as guides for whomever he was hosting at the time.

Which was why Prowl was stuck with a particularly disgusting example of Decepticon Officer. (What had his designation been…? Ah, yes. Snaptrack). The mech had asked (demanded) in no uncertain terms to be taken to one of Praxus’ gentlemech’s clubs. There he proceeded to not only ogle the mechs and femmes wandering about nearly armorless in their protoforms, he tried to grope a few (which Prowl had to keep explaining was against the rules), he was well on his way to being overcharged (which did nothing to improve his attitude) and he tried to recruit Prowl (Prowl only kept his dermas from curling in contempt by sheer practice).

Snaptrack had two bodyguards with him that stood at the open entrance to their semi-private lounge. The interior walls of the establishment were lined by these small rooms divided by half-walls with opaque meshes strung to the ceiling. The main stage in the center of the room was clearly visible as well as the shadowed silhouettes of the entertainers that had been paid for extra services by the mechs in the lounges on either side of their room. Privately, Prowl thought the bodyguards looked uncomfortable. His doorwings had picked up on their EM fields earlier and they seemed to share his sentiments about their Officer, but they were either to loyal or to afraid to go against him.

If it had been up to Prowl, he would have left the mech here to “enjoy” his dark-cycle and gone home. But his sire’s punishment would have been swift and merciless. It only took getting your sensor panels lashed once to learn that lesson.

Instead he forced himself to relax on the plush wrap-around couch that filled the lounge and looked around in mild interest. The mechs and femmes here were gorgeous, no doubt, but Prowl, like many of his Praxian brethren, relied on his doorwings to judge a mech by feel rather than appearance. Sensor panels could tell you things that the optics could not. As well as giving their owners the ability to be living lie detectors, doorwings could also physically measure a mech’s compatibility. Praxus had the highest rate of sparkbonds on Cybertron for a reason.

It was because he instinctively tuned in to his sensor panels that he realized they were getting some sort of low grade reading. Too faint and indistinct to suss out. And he couldn’t go hunt down where it was coming from because he was stuck bot-sitting. Frag.

The announcer drew his attention to the main stage in the center of the room.

“And now please welcome this sinful temptation all the way from Polyhex: Solstice.”

A sinuous melody started playing as the lights dimmed and a lithe figure glided onto the stage. As the mech began to dance and twirl Prowl took in his form with actual interest rather than feigned. Polyhex was indeed far and the mech was the definition of exotic.

He was silver from helm to pede, including his visor. The distinctive Polyhexian audial horns had been adorned with elegant wing-like attachments. The only pieces of armor he wore were a large ornate collar that dipped low enough to cover his spark chamber, two cuffs around his wrists and a thin panel that only just covered his interface ports. Quite an alluring picture he made.

Prowl angled his doorwings with subtle precision and was pleased to identify the mech as the source of the strange reading. Now he just had to figure out why.

“He’s a pretty one, eh?” The Decepticon said with a leer.

Prowl had to stop himself from leaning away from the clearly overcharged mech.

As if he’d heard the mech, the Polyhexian lifted his helm, visor locking onto them. His movements somehow became more sensual. He gracefully danced off the stage and to the “doorway” of their lounge. The two bodyguards tensed slightly as the Polyhexian ran digits over their armor. The dancer flared his EM field in a reassuring mute “trust me”. It was enough to keep the two from moving as he incorporated his new living dance poles into his routine. Snaptrack laughed lecherously. 

With the visored mech closer, Prowl’s sensor panels finally recognized the data they were collecting. He and the dancer shared Spark Resonance. Every cable and strut in his frame stilled as he focused on the information being sent to his neural net, at the same time his upgraded tactical computer started churning out scenarios of how to capture the mech for his own. 

Acquiring the dancer would be simple enough. He was probably owned by the establishment. If Prowl bought his contract, Solstice would belong to him and contractually unable to leave. That did hold a certain appeal.  
Almost lazily, Prowl sent a request to the management for a copy of Soltice’s employment contract while keeping his optics (and doorwings) trained on the mech. A moment later the request was answered by the owner himself along with a little apologetic note that offered the names of some of the club’s other employees.

Interesting. Solstice was not owned. He was an independent contractor; a dancer for hire who traveled the club circuits of the cities. Strictly dancing. Interfacing was not part of his agreement. The owner’s note made sense now. Usually the first step to hiring for other services was a request of contract.

Let the owner think what he would. It mattered little. Solstice would become Prowl’s regardless.

The mech danced on, oblivious to Prowl’s motivations.

Of course, if the Decepticon he was entertaining kept looking at his mate with those greedy optics, he might have to take measures. He idly contemplated the removal of the annoying mech’s helm from his neck cables.

With his doorwings so tuned into his mate-to-be, he realized that not only was the Polyhexian stroking the bodyguards’ plating, but he was also mischievously sending low level mag-pulses that were slowly and simultaneously driving their charges higher and turning them into purring puddles of metal under his servos. Prowl found himself both amused and enraged that they were receiving such attention.

For now, he could do nothing about it.

As the song crescendoed to its climax, Solstice twisted himself in impossible ways showing off a seductively flexible frame. He struck an enticing pose as the song ended, hips canted, servos lightly sunk into the bodyguards’ back cables, helm bowed.

“Why don’t you come closer, pretty.” Snaptrack said suggestively.

The dancer’s helm raised slowly, a harsh glint in his visor. Prowl’s doorwings gathered the increased charge in the dancers hands and therefore he was not surprised when Solstice sent a huge mag pulse to each of the bodyguards’ systems, overloading them and knocking them offline in one motion. The dancer slammed his two cuffs together which transformed into a small laser pistol.

The mech stated very clearly and coldly with no hint of the recognizable Polyhexian accent, “This is for Cerulean.” And shot Snaptrack through the spark.

 _Lie_ , Prowl’s sensors told him. Whatever reason Solstice had for shooting Snaptrack, it was not for somebot named Cerulean. 

Somebot screamed, but Solstice was already on the move, grabbing onto a dance pole and flipping himself nearly vertical. He kicked open a grate in the ceiling and disappeared into a vent. Prowl was up and moving half a klik later, tactical computer adjusting for the new information it had just received. 

The mech he was chasing was trained, graceful and deadly. Rather than put Prowl off, it only made him want the mech more. His mate was intriguing.

He calculated the most efficient routes that the mech might take and darted out the door of the establishment to attempt to head him off. He saw a nearly non-armored alt-form take off out of the corner of his optic and gave chase. Twisting through traffic, cutting corners, changing directions. Doggedly he kept up. He did manage to catch up to the other mech on an empty stretch of road on one of Praxus’ aerial highways if only because the mech stopped suddenly, transforming into root mode, and aimed the laser pistol at him. Prowl immediately stopped and also transformed. He put his arms up in a non threatening manner.

“Stop followin’ me. Yer not s’posed ta be a part o’ this.”

Ah, now there was a definite Polyhexian accent. 

‘Supposed to be’ meant intel. Intel meant a mission.

“I’m not trying to stop you, I just want to know who you are.”

“Solstice.”

_Lie._

“Why did you shoot him?”

“Revenge. He killed my friend.”

_Lie._

Prowl took a step forward, the mech’s visor glinted dangerously. His grip tightened on the gun.

“No closer mech, I don’ wanna ‘ave t’ shoot ya.”

_Truth._

The mech had morals.

He suddenly tilted his head as if listening to something.

“Do us both a favor an’ forget ya ever saw me.”

_Never._

The mech stepped back and then vaulted over the railing on the side of the highway. Prowl ran to the edge even though he knew there would be nothing to be seen in the darkness below.

Fake identity. Trained assassin. Covert mission. Dead Decepticon in a Neutral city.

It was enough for Prowl to work with.

Well, it looked like it was time to horrify his creator and join the Autobots. It wouldn’t take long to work his way up command. He’d have to make sure to work near the Spec Ops in order to use his sensors to track down his wayward mate. Once he found him, Prowl would need to gain a higher position than him. That way he’d just be able to order his mate to sparkbond with him.

Easy.


End file.
